


Try Me On

by ChampagneSly



Category: Free!
Genre: Kink Meme, M/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-07
Updated: 2013-08-07
Packaged: 2017-12-22 16:44:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/915584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChampagneSly/pseuds/ChampagneSly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(Kink Meme de-anon)</p>
<p>Makoto believes that Haruka is old enough to know that swim-trunks aren't exactly underwear. He attempts to persuade Haruka of the merits of listening to his argument and trying on something new for size.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Try Me On

"What’s all this?" Haruka asks him blandly, barely lifting his head from the edge of the tub to acknowledge Makoto’s presence.   
  
More than used to Haruka ignoring him in favor of watching the way water rippled around the splay of his fingertips, Makoto just smiles and drops the shopping bags on the bathroom floor so he can slip his now-empty hand around those fingertips and drag Haruka from the water. He reminds Haruka that there are other things in this world to love than the splash of water, kissing him hello while he rubs his thumb over wet knuckles and curls his fingers around Haruka’s wrist, pulling away with a teasing sigh in the hopes that Haruka will follow. Haruka stands up slowly, emerging from the bath, dripping wet and wearing the trunks that Makoto has once or twice thought about burning because there are some habits he had hoped Haruka would leave behind in high school. But Haruka loves them and he loves Haruka, so Makoto does what he can to work around Haruka’s stubborn streak by using old tricks and new temptations.   
  
"This is for you," Makoto tells him, as Haruka blinks slowly from beneath the wet fringe of his hair, stepping out of the tub and reaching for a towel.   
  
"What’s for me?" Haruka asks skeptically, while Makoto watches the water disappear from his skin, wiped away by methodical hands that drift down the planes of his chest to the top of his ever-present jammers.   
  
Makoto reaches for the towel, tosses it aside and gestures towards the shopping bags that rest at their feet, steeling himself against the inevitable curve of Haruka’s disapproving pout when he says:  
  
"Underwear, Haru-chan."   
  
"Underwear?" Haruka’s lips act predictably, slanting down just as his eyebrows arch up.   
  
"Yes, underwear." Makoto answers with a sunny, encouraging smile, dares to trace the edges of Haruka’s hips with soft thumbs because he’s not above using a certain kind of persuasion to try and convince Haruka that Makoto always has his best interests at heart.   
  
"And why would you buy me such things?" Haruka asks, swaying ever so slightly into the gentle brush of Makoto’s fingers over a still-slick swimsuit.   
  
Makoto dips forward to kiss the wary corner of Haruka’s mouth, waits until Haruka’s breath catches in his throat before he explains:   
  
"Because we’re grown now, Haru-chan. Because I can’t let Haru-chan go to work with swim trunks under his suit. It isn’t proper."   
  
"You don’t need to worry about that." Haruka huffs derisively, denying Makoto’s reasonable suggestions with scrape of teeth over Makoto’s bottom lip and the sharp pull of fingers that have somehow become tangled in Makoto’s hair. “And if we’re adults now, you really should knock it off with the -chan business."   
  
"Don’t say that, Haru-chan," Makoto says gently, laughing as he licks the sting of Haruka’s rebuke from his lips. He doesn’t say that even when Haruka turns old and gray, he’ll still be Makoto’s Haru-chan.   
  
Haruka watches him, silent and perfectly still like he’s perched on the edge of the starting block waiting to for Makoto to make his move and start this little race of pleasure that’s become so familiar. Makoto hooks his fingers in damp fabric and slides the jammers down, down, down following the progress of swimsuit over hips and thighs with his body, trailing kisses over skin that twitches and tremble beneath the hot press of his lips until he’s on his knees with one hand on Haruka’s hip and the other reaching for the shopping bags.   
  
Fingers stroke his hair, soft and sweet in a way Haruka rarely expresses with words. Makoto rubs his cheek against the expectant in-out tremble of his stomach and pulls out a pair of black boxer-briefs, dragging them over the slope of Haruka’s calves to the spread of his thighs.   
  
Makoto kisses Haruka’s hip bones and brushes the underwear up the hard curve of Haruka’s cock, listens to the hiss of Haruka’s muffled sigh and smiles.   
  
"Perhaps, just once, I’d like to strip you out of something other than a swimsuit."   
  
Haruka’s fingers drift down his face, thumb pressing against the corner of his mouth. Makoto turns his cheek to worry the tip of that thumb with his teeth, feeling his lips curve into a happy smile when a foot comes to rest over his bent knee. Makoto rewards Haruka for his acquiescence, kisses the head of Haruka’s cock while he slips one foot and then the other into the boxer-briefs.   
  
Haruka sighs almost noisily when Makoto takes his cock between his lips, wetting hot skin with an appreciative tongue while cotton underwear stretches over the muscles of Haruka’s thighs. Makoto leaves them there, the underwear pulled wide over the shaking spread of Haruka’s legs, because Makoto wants to keep his hands splayed over Haruka’s hips and his mouth parted around the slick, warm slide of Haruka’s cock.   
  
He looks up to watch Haruka’s cheeks flush red, watches the way he bites his bottom lip every time Makoto curls his tongue around the crown of his cock and then hollows his cheeks to take him a little deeper. He looks down to see the way black looks on pale skin, sees the abandoned swim-trunks on the bathroom floor, and thinks of how he can persuade Haruka to try on the ten other pairs of underwear he’s brought home.   
  
Makoto hides his smile in the heat of Haruka’s thigh, keeps his secret plans and trails his fingers over the skin made wet by his own lips and tongue, stroking Haruka while he licks his way from Haruka’s balls to the salt-slick tip of his cock. He parts his lips, rubs his cheek against Haruka’s cock, loves the sticky-hot press against his face while he imagines how good Haruka will look in the bright-blue briefs or the red boxers or maybe, just maybe, in a pair of Makoto’s underwear that Haruka’s stolen because he wants to always wear a little bit of Makoto.   
  
Haruka moans low and rough when Makoto hums and swallows, letting his throat ripple and tighten as he rakes his eyes up Haruka’s chest and decides that it doesn’t really matter what Haruka wears because he looks best like this—flushed faced, hair curling at the ends from the steam in the bathroom air, white-knuckled, and shaking knees, with his cock between Makoto’s lips. Makoto loves Haruka like this, a little bit noisy, a little bit desperate, and persuadable within the splay of his hands and the touch of his mouth.   
  
He strokes him faster, sucks him a little harder, tongue flattened against Haruka’s shaft and head dipping up and down in time with the anxious roll of Haruka’s hips. Haruka’s fingers pull and twist in his hair, Makoto hums, closes his eyes and welcomes the hot splash of bitter-salt that follows the sudden stiffening of Haruka’s legs and the echo of a low moan. Makoto swallows, rides out the rough tides of Haruka’s pleasure until he feels a soft, shaking hand press against his cheek and push him away.   
  
Makoto smiles, kisses each hip bone, kisses Haruka’s navel and the trembling of a chest that can’t seem to get enough air (no matter how good Haruka is at holding his breath), and reaches down to finally pull the forgotten underwear all the way up. Haruka sways forward, falls into Makoto’s arms with a lazy huff, fingers plucking at the elastic band of his new boxer-briefs.   
  
"What do you think, Haru-chan?" Makoto murmurs, kissing a still-warm cheek and running his hands down the curve of Haruka’s back, “Not so bad, are they?"   
  
Haruka’s arms wrap around his waist, holding him just closely enough so he can hear the whispered agreement:  
  
"No, not so bad at all."


End file.
